


Cobwebs

by stinkyworms



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Alternative Universe (AU), Gen, Human!Beetlejuice, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Just tagging for juno, Suicidal Thoughts, demon!lydia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24789682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stinkyworms/pseuds/stinkyworms
Summary: Lawrence has just moved house with his mother. They aren't the only ones inhabiting it, though.My take on a Human!Beej, Demon!Lydia AU.
Relationships: Beetlejuice & Juno, Beetlejuice & Lydia Deetz
Comments: 21
Kudos: 103





	Cobwebs

Lawrence didn’t like the new house. The floorboards creaked too much. And everything smelled musty. And the stairs were steep. And it was too _big_. All the rooms were wide open spaces that felt too empty, and made him feel too small.

He didn’t like the town they had moved to for his mom’s new job either. It was too twee, too _perfect,_ like out of a postcard. His mom had driven past what would be his new school come fall, and it was extremely fancy, with old fashioned brick buildings and stone pillars. It had a uniform dress code, too. He already knew he wasn’t going to fit in. His mom had told him it was costing an arm and a leg to send him there, though, so if he grades didn’t improve there would be hell to pay.

Lawrence sat on the staircase, watching through the gaps in the railing as his mom directed the movers around the room as they brought in the last of the furniture. He mostly went ignored as the adults shuffled around him, although a couple of movers gave him friendly smiles as they packed up and left, which he returned enthusiastically. 

The house grew silent as the movers left. Lawrence was already starting to feel fidgety, he couldn’t go very long without something to entertain him.

“Why couldn’t we have brought the TV?” Lawrence asked.

“I’ve told you a thousand times, Lawrence, television rots your brain,” His mother said, settling down into one of the armchairs, “I bought you some books to read, if you’re bored you can go do that.”

Lawrence _hated_ reading. He was bad at it, and trying to get through a whole book on his own always ended up with him feeling frustrated. His mom knew that, but It didn’t stop her from trying, and removing the TV altogether seemed to be her latest tactic. She seemed to be under the impression that if he just read more books, suddenly he would be not as stupid and bad at school. Lawrence looked down at his shoes and picked at the laces.

“Dad would let me watch TV,” He mumbled.

He had tried to say it quietly, to himself, but Lawrence was bad at being quiet, and it came out too loud. He immediately cringed. His mother hated it when his dad was brought up. He was a coward, she said. He got me pregnant and ruined my career, she said. He abandoned me with _you_ , she said. Sometimes, when she had been drinking and was feeling particularly spiteful, she would tell him how _Lawrence_ was the reason his dad killed himself.

His mom snorted. A horrible, ugly sound, “You didn’t even fucking know him. Stop living in a fantasy world.”

She was right, of course. His actual memories of his father were vague and blurry. But Lawrence spent a lot of his time imagining what his life would be like if his dad had stuck around. Sometimes, he even pretended to have whole conversations with him, although that had mostly stopped once his mom found out that’s what he was doing. The whole thing had been really embarrassing, because he was way too old to have imaginary friends. But it wasn’t like he had a lot of options of people to talk to.

Lawrence knew better than to argue with his mother. He stood, thinking he had better go check out his new room, and stay out of her way until dinnertime. His mom didn’t comment on his leaving, thankfully.

His new room, like the rest of the house, was uncomfortably unfamiliar. The walls were an ugly shade of baby blue, and his mom said they could repaint them if he wanted, but it was the kind of thing she promised and never actually got around to doing. A spider sat in a web in one corner of the room but Lawrence ignored it, he liked spiders, and most bugs really, and making it leave seemed mean. Most of his possessions were still in boxes, and a suitcase full of clothes lay next to the wardrobe. Above that, his new school uniform hung on a hanger off the wardrobe door.

Lawrence pulled off the blazer and tried it on. It fit pretty snugly, and the material was stiff, but when he looked in the mirror he liked the way it looked on him. He looked good, professional, smart. He attempted to smooth down his wild hair with his hands. Most of it stuck back up again, but he liked the way it looked. Maybe he would ask his mom for some hair gel.

A thud from above his head brought him out of his thoughts. He knew the house had an attic, he had seen the stairs leading up to it when he had walked up to his room. But he hadn’t heard his mom going up there.

He poked his head out of his room, and he could hear his mom moving about in the kitchen, clattering pots and pans. He crept over to the foot of the stairs that led up to the attic, and listened out. It sounded like voices, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. He wondered whether they were movers that had been left behind, but one of the voices sounded feminine, and all of the movers had been men.

Lawrence debated whether to run and tell his mother, or try to hear what the intruders were saying. Curiosity won, and he creeped further up the stairs and pressed his ear to the door.

“I can’t go through with this Adam, she’s a single mother with a _child,”_ The female voice said.

“I know, I know,” The male voice, Adam, said, and there was a heavy sigh from the other side of the door, “But what are we supposed to do? Stay up here in the attic forever? You heard what she said, unless we scare them, we won’t be allowed to move on.”

“’Move on?’ It barely even makes sense!” The woman sounded exasperated, “I’m not sure I even believe that… Witch.”

“Barbara!”

Lawrence didn’t have a fucking clue what they were talking about. If these guys were murderers, they really didn’t seem to have the balls for it. Or maybe they were just really high squatters. The house had been empty for a long time before they moved in, judging by the thick layer of dust on the skirting boards, maybe these people had broken in.

Lawrence decided that whoever they were, they didn’t seem very dangerous. He slowly turned the handle on the attic door, and pushed gently, peeking through the crack. What he saw was just an extremely normal looking white couple, probably in their early thirties, in the middle of the attic. They both looked extremely stressed out, and the man was pacing around. Neither of them looked like murderers. At least, not good ones.

“Who the hell are you guys?” Lawrence said, opening up the door fully.

The couple both jumped at his voice and spun around to face him. They gave each other a look Lawrence couldn’t read.

“You can see us?” Adam asked.

“Uh, yeah?” Lawrence said, “Why wouldn’t I see you?”

“Because we’re… Um,” Adam trailed off.

“Dead,” The woman, Barbara, finished for him, “Ghosts.”

Lawrence laughed, they had to be fucking with him. He wasn’t going to fall for something so stupid. But both of them looked deadly serious. Maybe they really were high? In any case, he needed to get them to leave before his mom called the police on them both.

“It’s true!” Adam asserted, and reached out a hand at one of the golf clubs next to the door, his face straining. Predictably, nothing happened, “Dammit, I could do it a minute ago.”

“Okay, fine. You’re ghosts,” Lawrence said, “But you both need to leave bef-“

He had walked up to Adam, with the intention of grabbing his wrist and pulling him out towards the attic door to leave. But when he reached out, Lawrence’s hand went straight through Adam’s wrist. Instead of anything solid, he felt nothing but an icy chill that crept up his arm and made him shiver.

“Woah,” Lawrence said, and stuck his hand in into Adam’s chest.

Adam flinched away from him, “Can you… Not, do that?”

“Does it hurt?” Lawrence asked. He had so many questions, suddenly, and barely stopped for breath as he asked, “How did you die? Did you die _here?_ Did it hurt when you died? Oh, oh, did you see the whole light thing people talk about?”

Barbara raised her hands, trying to stop the flow of questions, “Hey, how about we start with names. We’re Adam and Barbara.”

“I know, I was listening to you through the door,” Lawrence said, matter-of-factly.

The couple exchanged another look, and Lawrence wondered if they were mad at him for eavesdropping. He decided to bring the conversation back on track.

“I’m Lawrence, but all my friends call be BJ” He said.

That was a lie, he didn’t have any friends. But in his head, that’s what they _would_ call him. It sounded way cooler than ‘Lawrence’.

“It’s nice to meet you, BJ,” Barbara said.

When Barbara smiled at him, it felt very warm and genuine, and he couldn’t help but smile back at her, like it was contagious. Both of the ghosts seemed really friendly, and Lawrence wondered whether they would want to hang out with him. He fidgeted a bit, not sure how to ask them if they wanted to be friends. There seemed to be a lot of cool stuff hidden up here in the attic, maybe it was theirs? He could ask them about it. People liked it when you asked about their interests, he knew. Before he could decide on a strategy, however, Adam was already speaking again.

“So Lawrence, err- BJ, since you can see us, I’ll just get straight to the point,” Adam said, “Would you and your mom mind leaving and never coming back?”

Oh.

“Adam!” Barbara exclaimed.

“Wha… Why don’t you wa-“ Lawrence began, but he was cut off by the sound of someone coming up the attic stairs.

“Lawrence?” His mother’s voice rang out from the attic door, “What are you doing up here? Who are you talking to?”

“Adam and Barbara,” Lawrence said, motioning behind him, but his mom was looking at him like he was crazy.

“She can’t see us,” Barbara said, as Lawrence came to the same realisation.

His mom sighed, “How old are you?”

“Fifteen,” Lawrence said, his voice starting to wobble like it always did when he was in trouble.

“And do you think,” His mom continued, “It’s normal for a fifteen-year-old to have imaginary friends?”

He shook his head, looking down at the ground, focusing on a groove in the floorboards. It was a stupid idea to try and argue with his mother, especially because he had no proof that Adam and Barbara were real, and she would never believe him anyway.

“You’re going to school next month, do you want everyone to think you’re a freak? Again?” His mom asked.

Lawrence could hear the anger creeping into her voice. He shook his head again. This was a sore subject, and he wanted to avoid it. His mom had been called to his previous school multiple times because of bullying, which was always followed by long lectures about how he should just stick up for himself, and maybe people wouldn’t bully him if he didn’t act so weird, and how he should take his P.E. lessons more seriously and finally lose the extra weight he was carrying. Eventually, he had gotten suspended for fighting back, which he thought his mom might approve of, but instead she just raged at him more for getting in trouble. He had promised her that his behaviour at his new school would improve.

“Dinner’s ready, take that blazer off and come downstairs,” His mom said, and left the attic.

Lawrence didn’t move until the sound of his mother’s footsteps had faded. He swiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his blazer. He was _not_ crying, they were just itchy.

“I’m sorry Lawrence,” Barbara said.

“No, you’re not,” Lawrence said.

It was true. She didn’t care about him, they said it themselves, they wanted him gone. And he wasn’t going to listen to some lies because they felt bad he got yelled at. Lawrence threw off the school blazer he was wearing, feeling like an idiot for putting it on in the first place, and stomped to the attic door, shutting it behind him as he left.

When he got downstairs, the atmosphere was tense. His mom had made pasta, and he tried to be unassuming as he shuffled over to the dining table and took a seat. A cursory glance at her, however, told him that she hadn’t gotten a plate for herself, and she had opened a bottle of wine. She had told him once she had wine for dinner to stay skinny, because otherwise nobody would take her seriously at work. Lawrence didn’t know if that was true, but in his opinion, it just made her irritable and uncomfortable to be around. Considering she was already angry at him, it was a bad sign for the rest of the night.

Lawrence started to pick at his pasta, making sure he didn’t eat too fast, or too slow, or scrape his fork against the plate. He could feel his moms eyes on him, and he knew she was waiting for him to make a mistake so she had a reason to say something. Throughout the meal, he saw his mom go to refill the wine glass twice. His mouth felt dry as he ate, but he hadn’t gotten anything to drink, and he could barely taste the pasta sauce.

When he finished, he lay the fork down carefully on the plate and waited to be dismissed, looking at the sauce stains on the dirty plate. He heard his moms lighter and smelled cigarette smoke. He put his hands between his thighs to stop them from fidgeting.

“You know,” His mom said, finally breaking the silence, “I was thinking of getting you a psychiatrist, to try and fix whatever’s wrong with you.”

She paused, waiting to let the words sink in. She was good at that. Lawrence chewed the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying anything back.

“But that would cost _money,_ and do you know how much I’m already spending on you? Do you want me to spend _more money_ on you?” She was waiting for a response this time.

He shook his head.

“Are we not speaking now? Is that what’s happening?” Her voice had taken on a mocking edge, harsh like nails on a chalkboard, like it always did when she was drinking.

“No,” Lawrence said.

“Do you know how much I do for you? I give you a nice warm bed, in a nice new house, and put food on the table, and pay for some of the best education in the state. And what do you do for me? Act like a damn _child_ all the time. When are you going to grow up? Start taking your life seriously?” She took a drag of her cigarette, and Lawrence heard the creak of her chair as she leaned back in it, “God, you’re a screw-up.”

Angry tears stung at his eyes, but Lawrence refused to acknowledge they were there. He hadn’t done anything _wrong_ this time. Maybe if his mom just _listened_ to him, maybe if she just acted like a friend to him, like the moms on TV, he wouldn’t be so wrong. He dug his nails into his palms to try to stop the anger bubbling up inside of him, but it was too late. He wasn’t good at controlling his anger when it came out.

“Why do you have to be so hard on me all the time?” He asked, too loudly.

It was the wrong thing to say, he knew it immediately. But the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. His mom stood, her chair scraping along the floor, and grabbed him by the arm. He could smell the cigarettes and alcohol on her breath, and it made him want to vomit.

“Hard on you? _Hard on you?_ You’ve got to be fucking joking,” Her voice was close to shouting, and her nails were digging into the flesh on his arm, “I do _everything_ for you. I gave up _everything._ And its only now I’m beginning to claw my way back up the ladder. This job is important to me, Lawrence, and you’ve been nothing but miserable since we started moving. Do you think I wanted an ungrateful brat for a son? Who does nothing but complain all the time? And acts like… _this?_ ” She yanked at the arm she was holding, and he realised he had been doing that thing where he clenches and unclenches his fists, which she didn’t like, “God, you’re an embarrassment. Go to bed, I don’t want to fucking look at you anymore.”

She released his arm, finally, and he took off at the stairs as fast as he could. Hot tears were starting to spill down his face, and he didn’t want her to see, because he was too old to be crying. He didn’t stop until he had reached his room, where he closed the door behind himself and slid down it to the floor.

His mom was right, of course. He _should_ be happy. Some kids had it a lot worse than him. And it _was_ his own fault nobody wanted to talk to him. He was weird, and too loud, and didn’t know about the internet things the kids at school talked about because his mom wouldn’t let him have a phone yet. Lawrence pulled his knees up to his chest and ran his fingers through his hair, waiting for the wave of self-loathing and tears to stop coming. He wished his dad was here, his dad would understand him, be friends with him, hold him. The thought brought another wave of frustration and self-pity over him.

“I wish I was _dead,”_ Lawrence said, to nobody in particular.

“No you don’t,” A sing-song voice rang out from across the room.

Lawrence raised his head from his knees, looking in the direction of the voice, but he couldn’t see anyone. The only other presence in the room was the spider, nestled in its web above the wardrobe.

“Who’s there?” He called out, wiping at his eyes.

Maybe it was the ghosts from the attic, playing a trick on him. They probably thought he was pathetic for crying, too. But nobody answered. The only movement was from the spider, which twitched in its web, and skittered along the wall until it was almost above him. Lawrence followed it with his eyes.

The spider twitched again, detaching from the wall and floating down towards him gracefully. As it did, there was a bright flash of light, and when Lawrence blinked there was a woman in front of him, crouched down so they were eye-level. Her hair was an inky black, and seemed to jut out at different angles to frame her long face. She wore a long red dress that went down to her ankles, and was covered in a white spiderweb pattern. She smelled nice, like morning dew, not like the cloying flowery perfume his mother wore.

“You can see me?” She was looking him up and down, her gaze intense.

Lawrence nodded. His response made her grin, showing two long fangs where her canines should be. It wasn’t very intimidating though, she looked like Lawrence had just told her she had won the lottery.

“Are you a ghost?” He asked.

“Something like that,” She got her grin under control, her expression adjusting to one of concern, “But what about you, kid? What’s got you so upset?”

Lawrence shifted, moving his legs so they crossed each other. He fidgeted with the laces of his shoes, not sure whether he should actually spill his feelings to the spider ghost. He wanted to, of course, but it tended to drive people away. But she was looking at him with such empathy, her eyes big and her head tilted like she was ready to listen. And she _did_ ask.

Once the words started coming out they didn’t stop, “It’s my mom. I don’t think… I don’t think she loves me anymore and I don’t know if she ever did and I don’t know how to fix it because I’m too _stupid_ to fix it,”

Tears were beginning to form again and run down his face, he squeezed his eyes shut to try to stop them. He waited to hear the ghost leaving, or laugh at him, or maybe just vanish in a puff of smoke and he would open his eyes and she would be gone. She didn’t know him, after all, why would she care?

Instead, warm, solid hands wrapped around his body and pulled him close. They were soft, and comforting. Lawrence leaned into the touch, burying his head in the fabric of her dress and wrapping his own arms around her waist. A hand came up to run through his hair, and he whimpered.

“I’m sorry,” He said, a little desperately. He didn’t want her to let go of him.

“Shh… You poor thing. I’ve got you,” Her voice sounded smooth as silk, “You don’t deserve that.”

She began rocking him, slowly, holding on to him like he wasn’t getting tears and snot all down the front of her dress. They sat like that for a minute, the silence only broken occasionally by Lawrence’s sniffling, until she spoke again.

“Y’know, I just had an idea, maybe we could help each other out,” She said.

Lawrence looked up at her, not loosening his grip, “You need help?”

“Yes,” She said, playing idly with his hair, “I’m trapped here, you see. My powers don’t work. But you could set me free, and we could leave. _Together._ Me and you. I could take you away from here, to somewhere nice. And we could be _friends,_ would you like that?”

He would. He wanted to get away from his mom’s angry face and cutting words. And his horrible new school he was going to fail in anyway. And all the people who laughed at him and called him names and ignored him. He tightened his grip on the back of her dress.

“How do I set you free?” He asked.

“Oh, that’s the easy part, you just have to say my name 3 times,” She said, “And then we can go anywhere you like.”

“What’s your name?” He asked.

“Oh I can’t say it but… Hey, we can play a game,” She said, her voice in that same sing-song tone as when she had first spoke.

She pulled away from Lawrence, and he shivered at the lack of contact. The woman was smiling again, her fangs showing. She looked more wild, and predatory this time, excitement clearly buzzing through her. Lawrence swallowed, making up his mind. He felt excited too.

“You know how to play charades?” She asked.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll let you guys decide whether she betrays him horribly or not :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please drop me a comment because I need serotonin.  
> You can also follow me at hellminth.tumblr.com and send me your headcanons at any time of day, because I love them


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